


Blanket Hog

by AtlasAffogato



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Cute, Fluff, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, SO MUCH FLUFF, Sleepy Cuddles, sleep in the same bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-28
Updated: 2016-10-28
Packaged: 2018-08-27 10:51:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8398792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AtlasAffogato/pseuds/AtlasAffogato
Summary: Sherlock is cold when John hogs the blanket. He just wants to be warm. He was not expecting to throw John out of the bed.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Johnlock is my life.

Sherlock rolled over in bed, glaring down at John, who was snoring with a peaceful expression on his face. He sighed, deep and angry. Stupid John, with his stupid taking all the blankets, and his stupid cute snore that kept him up for hours. Its not like Sherlock isn't used to not sleeping, he only sleeps when he has to (or when John has nightmares) but he was on a case all week and hadn't slept the entire time. He curled his fingers into his hair, tugging at the roots with a frustrated groan. No way he's going to be able to sleep if John continues this maddening sound. Sherlock falls back onto the bed, bouncing the mattress a bit. John wasn't fazed at all, simply pulling the comforter tighter around his shoulders. 

Patience wearing thin, Sherlock grabbed one end of the blanket and gave it a quick tug. Nothing. John left him with no more than about 3 inches of their blanket while the temperature dropped with every minute. Adjusting his grip, Sherlock grabbed the comforter with both hands and pulled it towards himself with his entire body weight. It was too late when Sherlock noticed that John had rolled himself into that blanket like a burrito. The blanket was ripped free from John, while John was ripped free from the bed. He spun off the bed and onto the floor. Sherlock flinched at the thump of John hitting the floor, eyes wide and heart beating out of his chest. "Shitshitshitshitshit." Sherlock stumbled off the bed, backing towards to door with the blanket still held to his chest. On the other side of the bed, John groaned. He rose to his knees, scoping the room. His eyes landed on Sherlock. In an instant, John's face went from pained and confused to furious. He leapt to his feet, fists clenched at his side and a murderous glint in his eyes. 

"Sherlock." He hissed. Sherlock sucked in a breath, heartbeat still out of control and adrenaline running through his veins. Most people were grumpy when woken up in the middle of the night; you would have to come up with a whole new word for how angry John was right now. John took a step forward, placing a fist on the bed. "Sherlock, did you throw me out of the bed?" His voice was just over a whisper and scarily calm. Sherlock opened his mouth. Then closed it. And opened it again. He rolled his lips together, and glanced back up at John. Without a word, Sherlock tore open the door and escaped into the hallway, abandoning the blanket. John crawled across their bed faster than he thought possible and flung himself after Sherlock. 

John tripped over the comforter in his haste, but recovered quickly and sprinted down the hallway. Sherlock's feet thumped down the stairs, but underestimated just how fast John can run when he's angry. John flung himself over the railing at the top of the stairs and landed on the landing next to Sherlock. He wrapped his arms around Sherlock, slamming the taller man into the wall. Sherlock squirmed, trying to escape, to no avail. John lowered both of them onto the ground, his hands so tight around Sherlock's ribs it was certain to leave bruises. "Where.." John spoke through his huffs of rage. ".. the hell.... did you think.... you... were going?" When he received no response, John squeezed him tighter. Sherlock bit down on a whimper of pain. Damnit, why was John so strong? "What the hell, Sherlock?!" John got his anger reigned in enough to speak properly. He continued to wriggle in John's grip, trying to find a way to try and breath properly. 

"Jo-John." He stuttered out, breath abandoning his lungs. "Ca-can't-brea-" The arms around his middle disappeared in an instant. Sherlock rolled away from John, sucking in a deep breath that rattled his ribs and made his head swim. He kept his eyes shut, holding himself up by his arms as he tried to eve not his breathing and heartbeat. 

"Sherlock, are you okay? Shit, I'm so sorry. I'm sorry. Sherlock?" John rubbed a hand up and down his back, placing the other hand on his cheek. Sherlock leaned into the touch, breath ghosting over John's arm. He moved his hand from Sherlock's back to cup his face, staring at the man with concern. "I'm sorry Sherlock. Fuck, I'm so sorry." Sherlock opened his eyes, staring up at John. John leaned closer to Sherlock, lips millimeters away. Sherlock's eyes flittered shut again, leaning forwards. But John pulled away, keeping Sherlock at arms length. His eyes opened, confusion covering his face. John raised an eyebrow. "Just because I hurt you a bit doesn't mean I'm not angry at you. I'm still pissed. Why did you throw me out of bed?" Sherlock licked his lips, nervousness overcoming him.

"You were hogging all of the blanket. And you were snoring. Loudly." John looked offended.

"I don't snore!" He defended.

"I hate to inform you, that you do snore John. " Sherlock said with a cheeky smirk. John just glared.

"I'm going back to bed." He muttered, turning away to shuffle back up the steps. When Sherlock moved to follow, he whipped around to snarl at him.

"And you're not invited!" Sherlock gaped.

"I didn't know you'd land on the floor! I was freezing without a blanket!" John huffed, exasperated.

"You can sleep on the couch tonight." He turned away before Sherlock turned on the puppy-dog eyes and marched back up to their room, slamming the door. Sherlock trudged up to their flat, pouting, and collapsed onto the couch. He stretched his legs over the edge and slipped cold fingers under his shirt in an attempt to retain heat. His toes were already frozen and there was a high possibility of him not being able to feel his nose in a few minutes. Mrs. Hudson really needed to upgrade the heating and air-conditioning unit. It was complete crap. Sherlock was on the couch for less than ten minutes before the door at the end of the hall way flung open. John stomped into the living room with the comforter wrapped around his shoulders, grabbed Sherlock's hand and dragged him back into their bedroom. Once they settled into the bed, Sherlock hummed in some sleepy semblance of happiness. John rolled his eyes. "You big baby." He muttered into Sherlock's curls. He just hummed again, hugging John to him.


End file.
